Kisses Like Snowflakes
by JustInunotaisho
Summary: A series of oneshots where kisses are exchanged, given, or forced on various characters of Bleach. Angst, humor, romance, friendship, family... No two exactly alike.
1. First Kiss: Coming Home

**Dedicated to BlueMiko - who reads and laughs and appreciates. - RedMiko -  
**

_Disclaimer: All characters belong to Tite Kubo. I just wish my brain worked like his…_

_Kind of AU, slightly OOC - but I'll leave that up to you..._

--

**Coming Home  
**

The night before he is to go to Hueco Mundo for what could be the final battle, Ichigo has dinner with his family. For much of the time, he allows the conversation to flow normally – as normally as it ever does in the Kurosaki household. His father accuses him of not loving him anymore – he was always disappearing with suspicious people! – while Yuzu alternates between defending and scolding her brother and offering seconds and thirds of the curry she's just learned to make. Karin is strangely quiet, picking at her rice.

When his father finally launches into an all-out physical attack, Ichigo defends easily and catches him in a head lock. "I need to tell you something," he says quietly and they become silent.

And then the explanation pours forth. It's jumbled, in pieces, starting with his mother's death, Rukia's appearance and true nature, training under Urahara. Each painful, terrifying, joyful, strange memory he pulls from his brain is laid carefully on the table for his little family to see. He winces as he admits the Hollow he has become, the Vizards he had to befriend, the Espada he has to fight.

He pulls out the badge that allows him to slip in and out of Shinigami form, tells them about Kon. He debates whether to demonstrate but knows that Karin would be the only one who could see him. Yuzu would only be able to sense him and Ichigo doubts his father would be able to either see or feel him, thick-headed as the old goat-chin was. Ultimately, he resorts to drawing pictures, resisting the urge to copy Rukia's ridiculous bears and rabbits and sticking with stick figures to tell the tale. So Ichigo continues his history, forcing himself to pause and eat, if only for the strength it might lend.

In the end, he is surprised at how his family reacts. Karin is quiet – and he remembers her earlier accusations of him being a Shinigami. This isn't news to her. Finally she snaps out, "You'd better come back, Ichi-nii. Someday, I'm going to be old enough to be a substitute Shinigami and you'd better be here to teach me!"

Yuzu alternately cries and laughs, as if she's trying to figure out exactly how to deal with all this. Stumbling, she flings herself in her brother's arms and sobs, wordlessly, while he holds her and lays his cheek in her hair.

Perhaps the most startling is his father. Isshin doesn't say much – amazing in and of itself – but smiles nevertheless. Instead, he stands and, taking his coat, leaves, motioning for Ichigo to follow.

Ichigo catches up to him just as his father reaches the graveyard. Together, they find Masaki's grave. Ichigo goes about lighting incense, fumbling in his pocket for the slightly squashed onigiri offering and they stand in prayer for a moment. Then, his father clicks open his lighter and lights his cigarette, inhaling deeply. Still nothing is said. And then his father's hand comes and rests on his shoulder and Ichigo meets his eyes and there is no need for words as his father nods at him and then looks back to dwell on Masaki's headstone.

Ichigo leaves in the middle of the night, when he's sure at least Yuzu is asleep. He gives Kon strict instructions to look after them all, whether in his body or in the plushie lion. For once, Kon is subdued and agrees solemnly. Though when Ichigo, clad in black and white and with his great Zanpakuto slung across his shoulders, steps onto the windowsill to launch himself into the sky, Kon shouts after him to be safe or he (Kon) would kick his (Ichigo's) ass for making his sisters cry. Ichigo grins and is gone.

* * *

They all deal with his departure in their own ways. Karin frowns more these days – focusing this intensity on her soccer games. She's gone to Tatsuki for martial arts lessons. She's even learning to cook from Yuzu – anything to take her mind off her brother.

Yuzu cries a little more, stifling her tears as she cooks and cleans with a fury. At night, she curls in her bed, afraid to ask Karin if she can join her in bed. Finally, she begs Kon to allow her to sleep with the lion plushie – and who could blame him if he sometimes switches over into the plushie and watches her at night, making sure she doesn't have nightmares?

Isshin – well, he visits Masaki's grave more often when he's not on duty. His face has a few more lines but he laughs frequently, going even more out of his way to make his daughters laugh too – or at least lash out at him in irritation. It is through these little rituals that the balance is somewhat restored and a measure of happiness allowed to flicker for a moment.

Sometimes, they find themselves stopping their work to stare up at the sky – blue, clouded, rain, snow, windy. There is no particular reason – just a feeling. And then the feeling passes and they resume their chores, if a little bit more slowly.

Kon watches all this with gloom. At first, he takes the opportunity to escape the house and roam the city, ogling all the deep cleavage he can find. But somehow, his heart is never into it and he returns home to find the family soldiering on and he feels the guilt. So when a section of the roof caves in, he goes with Isshin to buy wood and nails and helps as best he can to patch it up in the pouring rain. And when Yuzu sits, listless in a corner, the house spotless, he sits beside her, telling her stories of her brother's exploits. He even allows Karin to practice her martial arts moves on him, even if it means he lies awake later in the night, counting the bruises. But Kon is Kon and Ichigo's Ichigo and Kon still winces every time he sees the look in their eyes when he walks into a room – the look of blind joy and then a swift sorrow as they realize the soul does not match the familiar face.

So when Yuzu silently cries herself to sleep for the forty-fifth time in a row, clutching him in his plushie body, he wriggles his way out of her arms and pads down the hallway, down the stairs and through the front door.

The cool night air ruffles his ears as he climbs up a telephone pole and stands, glaring at the moon. "Ichigo!" he screams, dancing up and down. "Ichigo! Get your ass back here!"

A dog barks and the trees whisper in the gentle wind.

"Ichigo! I-chi-gooooo! Ichi – itaiiiiii!!"

A sandled foot connects with his head and he's sent flying, tumbling through the air to smack against a window.

"Oi – you wanna wake up the whole neighborhood?!"

Kon lies dazed on the concrete, staring up at the sky. A familiar shock of orange hair. That ridiculously huge Zanpakuto. "Ichi-go…." he wheezes. And then all is black as the air is crushed from his body.

"Kon! Did you fall out of the window?" comes a worried voice. He looks up into Yuzu's big eyes as she squeezes him in a hug and holds him up to her face. "Are you okay?"

He can do nothing but wheeze and point a claw up into the sky. Maybe she can see him? She follows the direction and the look of pure joy is the best thing he's seen in weeks.

Then, glory of glories, she pulls him tight and plants a kiss on one ear and squeals and sobs. "Oto-san! Karin-chan! Ichi-nii!" She is incoherent and frantic and running in several directions at once but Kon hangs in her arms in surprise. His ear tingles and he reaches a tentative paw up to see if it's still attached.

He wonders if this is how all kisses feel – as nice as a homecoming…

--

_A/N: I like Kon. I like the way he was introduced, love the occasional situations he gets himself into. I regret, in some ways, that he's become not much more than a plushie lion who sulks a lot. However - I love how protective he can get of Ichigo's sisters, especially Yuzu, when Ichigo doesn't come home - even if Yuzu dresses him up and calls him Bostav. :D Gotta love that comic relief, though!_

_Oh - and "itai" means "ow."_


	2. Second Kiss: Specimen in a Jar

**Dedicated to BlueMiko - who reads and laughs and appreciates. - RedMiko -  
**

_Disclaimer: All characters belong to Tite Kubo. I just wish my brain worked like his…_

_Slightly OOC - but I'll leave that up to you to decide... Nemu and Ishida  
_

--

**Specimen in a Jar**

He sneaks a furtive look. She passes him, unconscious to the sway of her long braid or the natural twitch to her hips under the short skirt. She casts a curious glance as she walks by but he hurriedly looks away and pushes his glasses up his nose to cover his blush.

He heaves a sigh. Not two minutes ago, he'd walked in on Rukia and Renji sitting on the low porches overlooking the gardens, heads nestled together and hands intertwined. He'd bowed his apologies and fled. Five minutes before that, he'd seen Ichigo pull Orihime into a passionate kiss. Both events had left him highly embarrassed.

And lonely.

After all this time, he is still alone. Rukia had Renji, Ichigo had finally discovered Orihime's love, the blond shinigami with the big – the large – the enor- well, he doesn't want to think of them – had her own silver-haired lover, traitor though he was. And Chad had – well, come to think of it, Chad was still alone too but seemed content to wander the outer districts and get to know the people there. Who knew, maybe he'd found a nice girl among them.

While Ishida sits beside yet another garden and sighs. Alone. By himself.

With Nemu passing in front of him.

All at once, she seems the most beautiful female on earth – or at least the Seireitei. Never mind that she has a terrifying "father," all Ishida can remember is her helplessness and her help during his first confrontation with her insane creator. Even during his subsequent visits to Soul Society, she treats him with politeness and deference and a sweet kindness on the rare occasion he interacts with her. Of course, he reasons, she treats everyone the same – but does that really matter now?

"Kurotsuchi-san," he calls and she turns towards him.

It's strange – for all that smooth tiles and cobblestones he's walked over, run over, spilled blood on here in Soul Society, he's never tripped. Until now. He goes flying, straight into her, and somehow – and he knows whatever gods there are are laughing – his lips become planted on hers and he freezes.

He knows he should be pulling away, regaining his composure and then running away as fast as possible, yet… He's never kissed anyone before (is it always this cold and awkward?) and so he fumbles for a moment. She is stiff in his arms and he opens his eyes to see her staring blankly into his and he pulls away.

"Forgive me," he says, taking a deep breath. "I—"

"How amusing," comes a familiar, crawling voice. Ishida turns his head to see Mayuri pacing towards them, his hands behind his back and his eyes alight with an unholy gleam. "An experiment. Nemu, respond."

And suddenly Ishida's arms are filled with warm, soft Nemu and she's pressing her lips to his in a way he's never felt before and he can't think and the vision of Mayuri watching fills his head until he can't decide whether to succumb to Nemu's demanding kiss or run screaming from Mayuri's latest experiment…

--

_A/N: I kind of feel sorry for Ishida - he doesn't have a girl of his own to run off and rescue. He's a knight with no lady - but he protects them all. I keep thinking of someone to give him in my fics - but can never find anyone. Yet. I mean, I suppose I could kill of Ichigo...but that's just too cruel for Orihime. And Rukia's too...Rukia. Tatsuki maybe? Or Yuzu, when she grows up... :D_


	3. Third Kiss: When Rabbits Go Awry

**Dedicated to BlueMiko - who reads and laughs and appreciates. - RedMiko -  
**

_Disclaimer: All characters belong to Tite Kubo. I just wish my brain worked like his…_

_Slightly OOC - but I'll leave that up to you to decide... Byakuya and Rukia._

--

**When Rabbits Go Awry**

"Byakuya nii-sama!!"

Byakuya raises his head and feels his neck pop as someone's full weight hurtles into it and wraps their arms around him.

"Rukia…" he manages before her shrieks cut him off.

"I wanted to tell you how much of a great brother you are!" She pulls away and does a little dance, her face wreathed in smiles. Byakuya can only stare at her – as attractive as her smiles are, they are also vaguely sinister. Likewise, her clothes are strange – they remind him of the rags she wore the first time he'd seen her after she'd gone missing from patrol. He opens his mouth to comment but she continues without skipping a beat. "Ichigo's sisters do this all the time, even if their brother is grumpy too – so I thought I'd do it to you! Byon!"

She latches onto him again and plants a huge kiss on his cheek. He stiffens but she continues to cling until she's given him three more loud, smacking pecks. Then, with another "You're a wonderful nii-sama!" she bounces away and disappears out the doorway, the screen sliding shut behind her.

There is silence. A deep, heavy stillness. Byakuya blinks, speechless.

Footsteps pound out. A pause.

Then, a brief, furious scuffle, a few measured thuds, a squishing sound and a click. Something is dragged away across the boards of the walkway. Byakuya's eyebrows inch towards his hairline as he listens to the footsteps return – four pairs, by the sound of it.

With a swish, the door opens once more to reveal Rukia and three of her companions: his own fukutaichou, the substitute Shinigami and his pretty human healer.

"Byakuya nii-sama," Rukia murmurs, once more dressed in her Shinigami robes.

The pieces fall into place and Byakuya understands. He rises, gazing at Rukia.

"Taichou – we've had a report of several Hollow encounters…" Renji trails off as he catches Byakuya's eyes. Casually, he snags Ichigo's sleeve and pushes him back a step which causes Orihime to bump into Ichigo with a squeak. Ichigo glares but Renji makes frantic motions at him to stay where he is, gesturing wildly at Byakuya and then pulling his fingers across his own mouth to imitate a zipper.

Ignoring the charades going on behind his sister, Byakuya scrutinizes her. She is smiling faintly, but nowhere near the crazed giddiness of a minute previous.

"Nii-sama?" Her forehead wrinkles, the smile disappearing.

He holds out his hand. "Where is your Gikongan?"

Her eyes widen and she reaches into her robe, pulling out the ridiculous Chappy container. "What happened, Nii-sama?"

Wordlessly, he takes the dispenser and moves towards the door.

"Wait, Nii-sama! I tried to restrain it – I'm sorry – what happened?" She tries to run after him, frantic, but he holds up his hand without turning to look at her and continues on his way. "Nii-sama!" She tries once more to follow but Renji catches her wrist – he's seen the look on his taichou's face.

There is a breathless moment of peace and then a muffled sound that can only be described a small grenade detonated under four pillows and a futon three rooms over. A gentle breeze washes over them from the direction Byakuya has disappeared and two or three sakura petals waft with it. One scrapes across Byakuya's papers and slices right down the middle before dissipating into nothingness.

The four can only stare with wide eyes as Byakuya returns, sheathing his sword, his expression complacent. Stopping in front of Rukia, he stoops and presses a gentle kiss to her cheek. He steps back and looks into her eyes – there is amazement there, yes, but a softness, like something broken down and revealing an emotion he's hitherto seen only guarded. She reaches up and touches her cheek, gaping at him.

"Be well, imouto-san," he says and leaves.

Behind him, he can hear Ichigo and Renji spluttering, can imagine their looks – mixtures of shock, terror and disbelief. Orihime's squeal of "Aren't brothers wonderful?" reaches his ears – as if the head of the Kuchiki clan always shows such affection to his sister.

He's glad his back is turned so they can't see him smile…

--

_A__/N: K - I know that Rukia would have no need for her gigai or the use of Chappy in Soul Society. Maybe she brought it back for maintenance (like she used to do with Urahara) and it escaped? For reasons unknown? Work with me here. :)_

_Nii-sama: Honorable brother.  
Gikongan: Artificial soul used to inhabit the gigai or human body while the current soul is detached._


	4. Fourth Kiss: Memories of Mother

**Dedicated to BlueMiko - who reads and laughs and appreciates. - RedMiko -  
**

_Disclaimer: All characters belong to Tite Kubo. I just wish my brain worked like his…_

_Kind of AU, slightly OOC - but I'll leave that up to you... Ichigo and Rukia.  
_

--

**Memories of Mother**

He sets the tray down beside her, wincing at the loud click it makes as it hits the little table. She stirs and he immediately feels guilty, shuddering at the thought of Byakuya knowing he's here right now. The taichou of the Sixth Division seems more terse than usual when Ichigo is around – especially since they returned from their last mission, with Rukia half dead. Orihime had been able to stabilize her but collapsed from exhaustion, leaving Rukia only partially healed. While Orihime rested, Rukia fell under the care of the Fourth Division.

"Oh? Ichigo…" She opens her eyes and grins. She turns on her side, the grin turning into a grimace. Orihime lies not far in her own bed, sound asleep.

Ichigo kneels and nods. "I heard you'd started to wake up," he says, settling on his heels and checking Orihime. "And Unohana-taichou is gone and the rest of the hospital staff is mostly gone…" He scowls. "So I asked if I could bring your medicine."

She makes a face. "I'm healed – I don't need it."

"Unohana-taichou said so, baka. You need your strength." He sticks his chin out in stubborn defiance.

"Baka yourself – I think you just came to see Orihime." Rukia's voice is weak but teasing. "I'm strong enough."

He flushes and crosses his arms. "She's just sleeping. I protected her. But you're too stubborn."

She matches his scowl. "I can protect myself. Besides, Renji protecting me is annoying enough." She pushes herself up on an elbow and brandishes a fist. "Don't make me hit you…"

The glare sizzles between them until his face relaxes a little in a half grin. "I'm glad to see you awake."

Falling back onto her pillow, she lets out a "whoosh" of a sigh. "So am I."

He fiddles with things on the tray, opening tiny vials and mixing them with the cup of water. Finally, he opens the little box in the middle and pulls out a pill, shaped a bit like the white painkillers they had at home. Without thinking, he raises the pill to his mouth and kisses it before handing it to Rukia, followed by the water.

She stares at him.

"What?" he demands.

"You just kissed it."

He blushes furiously, realizing what he's done. "So? Take it!"

Rukia begins to laugh. "Baka! Why did you kiss it? It's got germs on it now! How do I know you're not sick?"

His cheeks flame hotter and he shoves the pill and the water in her face until she has to take them or risk having them forced down her throat. Sitting up, she eyes the pill and then squints at him.

"Shut up!" he finally explodes, leaping to his feet. "It's something my mother did! She'd kiss our cuts and bruises and when we got sick, she couldn't kiss our insides. So she'd kiss the medicine. It's that simple! It's a habit, okay?" He dives for the little box and grabs another pill, spilling several others in the process. Again, he shoves it in her face. "Here! This one isn't kissed."

Her expression is soft, her eyes warm. Smiling, she puts the kissed pill in her mouth and swallows it down with the water. She sets the cup down and lies back again. "A mother's love and blessing," she whispers. "You do it in memory of your mother."

Still flushed, he sits down, eyeing her warily. "Yeah. I do it all the time for Yuzu and Karin. Yuzu does it for me and Dad." He scratches his head, a sheepish look on his face. "I guess it keeps us close to her memory."

Rukia smiles, her eyes sad. "I don't remember my mother or my sister. I wonder if they would do something like that for me."

Ichigo turns his head, pretending to be interested in the sky through the window. "I think so."

The warm summer sun filters through and warms the room. In the next bed, Orihime sighs a soft "Kurosaki-kun, you're so noisy…" before turning over and resuming her steady breathing.

Rukia lets out her breath. "Arigatou, Ichigo."

--

_A/N: I left this ambiguous on purpose. For those who love IchiRuki, you can interpret as such. For those who love IchiHime, you can interpret as such. I'm sure you've figured out my preference... :D_

_Oh - and I'll always love the image of Ichigo as big brother._


	5. Fifth Kiss: Fractured Melody

**Dedicated to BlueMiko - who reads and laughs and appreciates. - RedMiko -**

_Disclaimer: I know I don't write half as well as Tite Kubo - so why pretend the characters are mine?_

_Set after Orihime has been rescued from Hueco Mundo. Orihime and Chad._

--

**Fractured Melody**

She stares at the moon - white, cold, solitary. There are bars on her window and men in white coats. Her mind tells her she should find this familiar - that the man in the white coat with the sad eyes brings her food every morning when there is no moon and every evening when there is - she should know him. Not him. _Him_. A flash of turquoise under green - a tear from a hollow eye.

_Hollow?_

They take her temperature every morning - cheerful plastic faces with their cheerful plastic cups filled with cheerful plastic pills. They check her food intake, tell her to eat more - she needs to fill that hollow.

_Hollow…_

_Hollow…?_

She used to have visitors. Once, when she was first awakened to this unfamiliar world, she was smothered in flowers, in people, in hugs, in touches, in comfort until she had to scream to make it all go away. And then there were people in white - and somehow she found more comfort in their presence than in the presence of the boy with the frown and the bright strawberry orange hair who tried to hold her hand and sometimes couldn't hold back the tears. Or the boy who brought brilliant roses and nervously pushed his glimmering glasses up his nose as he told her about things she should know about. Or the girl with the sorrowful blue eyes who sometimes shouted at her in frustration and made her cry - but she didn't know why. Only that she couldn't remember why they were important. No matter what they told her, all the stories they related, the hints and clues, the prodding, pushing, screaming denial that she couldn't have forgotten - it was too important for her to remember - she _must_ remember…

And then, one by one, they seemed to fade away. There were whispers that the boy had died. That his friends had died too. Somehow. She had always been alone - she remembered that much - ever since her brother had died. And now she is alone again.

She has seen strange flashes across the moon - but are they memories? She tries to remember - not her memories but the stories - tries to remember the names and the details they told her. Masks - hideous masks. A strange tingle in her mouth, along the hairs of her arm - an energy maybe? Fairies? Her fingers tremble in memory - she remembers those too well. Once, when a memory had welled up, she had spoken a phrase, unbidden - and suddenly a small form had shot forth from near her ear and started shouting at her. All at once, five more had sprung forth and she had shrieked at their hideous forms, scrabbling under the cot to try and hide from them. The men in the white coats had come and there had been nothing - even as she desperately explained what she had seen. That evening brought twice the usual number of pills - and her dreams were filled with warped shapes and white landscapes and sad eyes and bright orange hair and blood and she could never wake until the drugs let her.

One time, when she gains control of herself, she manages to steal her file away from one of the men. In it, she finds that they have recorded her dreams - she talks in her sleep. Words spring to her eyes - familiar yet alien. Aizen. Hueco Mundo. Shinigami. And then the same word over and over again. Ichigo. Ichigo. Ichigoichigoichigo.

_Hollow!_

Her eyes are wet with tears as she slips the folder back - but she doesn't know why she cries. And so she turns back to the barred window, staring up at the moon and smelling the roses that surely must bloom nearby.

And then, she receives a visitor. He was there once before - and then had gone. Now he was here. Tall, silent, eyes almost covered by dark brown hair, features betraying his Hispanic ancestry. He is a quiet statue who sits on her bed as she sits at her small table and says nothing. He does not ask her to remember - as the orange haired boy had - and for that, she is grateful. She finds herself doing small things around him - finds she no longer has to look out of the window. She talks, once in a while, to fill the gentle silence. And she doesn't mind if he doesn't often answer.

One day, he brings a guitar and bends over it, playing soft Spanish notes that quiver and hum. He doesn't look at her, but she knows he does it for her and at first she can only sit, not understanding the ache in her heart. She knows, somehow, that he used to not play alone - and that maybe the orange-haired boy played too? She thinks she remembers them sitting facing each other and smiling at their guitars, fingers flickering over the strings as they chased each other along the melodies.

Soon she discovers that she misses him on the days that he doesn't come by. She jealously guards the hours when he arrives, trying to think of new ways to make him stay. She discovers things that make him smile and tries to remember other ways. When he leaves his guitar at home, she pesters him to bring it next time. She dances as he twines a new tune, inventing steps, remembering steps, clapping her hands, singing nonsense songs until she trips over the chair and falls - right into his arms. She doesn't remember him moving - doesn't remember him setting down his guitar - but he's there, strong and gentle, setting her upright before returning to the bed and his instrument.

But this time, he doesn't play. This time he speaks - the words flowing like honey in a language she doesn't know but thinks might be Spanish. Fluid, intense, it pours forth and washes over, comforting in its inaccessibility. His gaze fixes on her, pleading. She can hear phrases - Ichigo, Soul Society, Hueco Mundo - and she knows. Somehow, she knows he's trying to explain what's happened to her - in a language she can't understand so that she doesn't have to listen.

But she does listen, straining her ears - and his face seems to relax. He shakes his head once and his sentences peter out until they fall into silence. Then, he begins playing again and the lyrical Spanish is replaced by lyrical notes that set her dancing again, even as she turns all this over in her mind. Her steps are slower, like his song, and her movements tempered by sadness. His visits become more frequent, longer - he speaks to her in Spanish all the time now. She doesn't mind in the least - it's a contrast to the harsh tones of her own language - a non-threatening voice that doesn't ask her to comprehend.

Her dreams are the same as ever, filled with drugged visions, but somehow, she can hear him speaking his Spanish over it all, like a narration to the twisted landscapes of her nightmares - a beacon to cling to as she weathers out the night. The comforting voice soothes her - and she begins talking about things with the men in white - her doctors, they tell her, though she tells them that, in her dreams, they are evil men who have kidnapped her and do bad things to her mind.

Somehow, she thinks this is the cause for the Hispanic man's disappearance. One day he sits, playing his guitar. He no longer looks at the strings or where his fingers land next. Instead, he watches her sway, eyes closed, in her made-up dance and smiles, murmuring in Spanish. He has brought her a flower - bright tropical and sweet smelling and she's put it in her hair next to her hair clips. She wishes she could be wearing something different than the short hospital gown, something to cover up her long pale legs - but what can you do? She remembers a long white dress - similar to the ones that the sad-eyed man and the blue-haired man and the always-smiling man wore in the white land in her dreams - but she doesn't know where it went. Instead, she only pretends she's wearing it.

The melody trickles off and she opens her eyes to see him staring at her, his expression half-hidden by his hair. She pouts, her rhythm is gone and her feet still want to move to the song. So she floats to his side and kneels, catching up his limp hand and trying to form it around the guitar neck. If the music stops, then her world is too quiet - and maybe the music will keep her free from the memories.

But his hand is being stubborn; instead of conforming to her demands, it reaches out, avoiding her grasp, and clasps her chin in its fingers. It pulls her close to his face and his lips close on hers and she can smell sweat and spice and the wood of his guitar and something beyond the familiar and she's falling, falling into memory crashing hard on the shores of her mind fracturing splintering blood steel screams masks hairpins Espada.

"ICHIGO!"

The scream startles them both and she leaps away, tearing away from him and into the farthest corner. It's all there, Spanish, Japanese, Shinigami Arrancar everything. She can't bear to look at him - can't bear to see the pain in his face that she knows is there. She knows him, knows all - and her world is no longer silent but filled with too much sound, too much color, too much toomuchtoomuch.

"Help me!"

The men in white coats - doctors, true, but so very like the Espada who held her and broke her - come. Two hold her down, gentle reassurances that she will be all right even as she struggles against them. The third stands in front of him - the one who broke through her memories - and tells him that he must leave and never return.

She screams again, watching him stand and look at her. "Help me! Please!"

His reply is low. "No puedo. Pero tú puedes. Tienes que desear recordar para ser libre."

His guitar slung across his back - like a Zanpakuto, she realizes - is the last thing she sees as they push a needle into her arm and pump sleep through her heart.

Her nightmare landscape is starkly familiar now. The bars old friends. The moon a sliver of quicksilver that floods her vision at night. Somedays, she wakes up, not knowing where she is - whether she is still dreaming in the austere cell of Hueco Mundo. Sometimes, her hairpins dig into her temples and she thinks she remembers their special significance.

Even though she has access behind the old wall of her mind, she doesn't venture there often. Not by choice. The smell of stale bread stings her nose and reminds her of the sad-eyed Espada, bringing food and dark comments to her in her cell. A faint whiff of sulfur and she sees the cold gleam in Aizen's eyes. A particular loud shriek from another patient fills her mind with the voice of Grimmjow, harsh, wild. But most other times, she sits and stares at the pile of memories, wondering where she must start to begin putting the pieces back together into her former mind.

And so she pieces it together, slowly, painfully. It breaks her heart to know that she will never see some of her friends' smiling faces again. It's days like those that send her back into her corner, huddling and rocking and wishing he - Chad, Sado-kun, she knows his name! - were here, to fill the room with his presence and invite stability back into her world. At night, as she waits for the pills to flood her veins, she thinks she can hear the soft music from his guitar, can almost imagine him sitting among the rose scent that drifts through her window, playing for her. She rises, swaying, and dances, no tears able to fall. And, she can't remember when, she realizes that it really is music she hears, the Spanish chords rising and falling on the wind and she wishes she knew if it was him. She is afraid, somehow, afraid that things will change now that she remembers…

She can't stand it anymore - and she pushes her chair against the window, trying to see out. Her hands gripping the bars, she presses her face through the opening. "Sado-kun?" Her whisper is so faint that even she can't hear it. But the music stops and the silence is overwhelming. "Sado-kun, please…"

"Estoy aquí."

"Stay, Sado-kun…"

"Sí, mi mirasol. Siempre estoy aquí."

"Why do you speak Spanish, Sado-kun?" She is desperate for something to understand, trying to grasp meaning now - if only to connect with someone who knows the hell that resides in her mind.

"Hablo éspañol porque no quieres comprender. Cuando tu deseas comprender, entonces no hablo éspañol."

He leaves her frustrated in her incomprehension. The next day, she carefully asks the nurse with her breakfast if she can have some books on Spanish. The nurse is surprised, but the books come at lunch without comment and Orihime begins to work through them, sounding out the words and phrases and trying to remember all that he said to her. She falls asleep murmuring her words to herself - and, for a moment, the guitar ceases and she thinks she hears laughter.

It's slow. Spanish and her memories conflict and coincide - but she finds the latter easier as she focuses on the former. She finds herself smiling a bit more. Laughing when they serve pudding with her onigiri. Asking for red bean paste with her bread and soup. Wasabi and honey on her ramen. Old flavors she's forgotten she now craves. On the surface, she cooperates with her doctors - even as she remembers the Espada - but her memories of her torment set her jaw and she refuses to give in when they're not looking. The iron bars of her bed are hollow - the word now carries new significance - and she stuffs her nightly pills in there so she can stay up at night, listening to his guitar. He doesn't say anything, anymore, but he never misses playing for her.

And then, one day, the memory of her hairclips rises to the surface. "Shun Shun Rikka," she whispers - and the golden glow of six creatures spring before her. This time, she is not afraid, and they are overjoyed to see her. Her control of them is weak but they are patient and she is remembering her old spirit and strength and the guitar at night encourages her. She doesn't know if he watches her too - but she knows she will find him.

That night, she goes to the window again and demands to know what he said. There is no begging this time - her tone is firm but playful. He pauses and responds. She writes it down, asks him to repeat it and spell a few words - he, with a smile in his voice, replies. She sits, with her back to the moon, pouring over her books until she has translated it all.

"I speak Spanish because you don't want to understand. When you wish to understand, then I won't speak Spanish."

She smiles. "Sado-kun. Deseo comprender."

Perhaps he will use his mighty arm to smash the bricks between them. Perhaps he will bring her away with him, rescue her from the human Hueco Mundo with its Espada doctors and mind control. Where she is sick because she sees things that aren't there and doesn't see things that are.

There is empty silence and she feels the fear creep back - perhaps there is no escape from Hueco Mundo. Not here, not in the next world, not ever. And then…

"Come."

And somehow, the last few pieces fall into place. The tapestry is woven, finished, fractured, but whole. There is no escape from Hueco Mundo except through her own strength and hers alone. Once before, she would have been rescued - by Ichigo, by Chad, by any one of her nakama. But now, she stands alone - alone but strong. She calls forth her petals, points toward the wall and rejects, with all her might. There is a blinding golden glow, the now familiar tingle in her mouth, the hair raised along her arm--

--and the wall dissolves to reveal the garden that grew beneath her window. There is a small opening among the bushes and trees - and Chad sits in the clearing, bathed in moonlight. Beyond him, the sky shows a faint pink stripe - the clouds a soft gold. The promise of dawn.

She gazes at the impending sun for a moment. She has forgotten its warmth. But she turns inevitably toward Chad - his back to her. Silent, she paces up behind him and kneels, pressing her cheek against his back and wrapping her arms around him.

He leaves off his song, reaches a hand up twine his larger fingers in hers. "Mi mirasol."

"Sí," she sighs. "I see the sun."

--

_A/N I miss the Chad we were introduced to - the one who defended helpless things and who fought for Ichigo while Ichigo fought for him. So much has happened that their friendship seems to be fading - or not quite as prominent. I'm indebted to the writer who said Chad played flamenco guitar while thinking - and how many people remember that Ichigo once had a guitar in his room (way back at the beginning of the series)? I can't remember who it was - but thanks for the inspiration! I'm contemplating writing Chad's point of view to this story as either interwoven or a bookend chapter to this one - because I'd like to see if I can get into his silent head. :) That and writing in Spanish is fun when it's not for grades. :D  
_

_Translations:  
Shun Shun Rikka - Orihime's hair pin spirits.  
No puedo. Pero tú puedes. Tienes que desear recordar para ser libre - I can't. But you can. You have to want/wish/desire to remember for to be free.  
Estoy aquí - I'm here.  
Sí, mi mirasol. Siempre estoy aquí. - Yes, my sunflower. I'm always here._


	6. Sixth Kiss: Spinning Spiderwebs

**Dedicated to BlueMiko - who reads and laughs and appreciates. - RedMiko -  
**

_Disclaimer: All characters belong to Tite Kubo. I just wish my brain worked like his…_

_I don't know why I'm so interested in this pairing - perhaps because I'm dark and twisted? Aizen and Hinamori_

--

**Spinning Spiderwebs**

_Spiderweb trembles,  
Diamonds of dew glitter sharp  
In the morning sun._

_So fragile and glistening, a spider's web is a thing of beauty. No mortal could ever hope to recreate its delicacy, no jeweler its shimmer, no woman to complement its ethereal splendour._

Aizen Sousuke strolls through the quiet gardens, brushing his fingers against the dew-laden petals. Despite the cool of the morning, he can still smell the fragrances. Orchid, rose, peony, bluebell – in the human world, so many flowers blooming at the same time, in the same place was unthinkable. Aizen knows them all and relishes their individual scents.

The sad thing about flowers is that in order to extract the most perfect scent, one must crush the silken petals…

He smiles.

A hesitant step followed by a more hesitant voice. "Aizen-sama?"

_See the trembling hands, the downcast eyes, the faint mix of adoration and petrification. See the slight figure lean towards him, unconscious in its desire for acceptance. See the flower bend toward the sun, the pale delicate moth flirt with the silken strands._

"Hinamori," he says warmly. A comforting voice.

"Aizen-sama." That faint whisper. "Aizen-sama, you requested I be your fukutaichou…."

_The soft feathery wings brush against the web, sending it dancing in the light._

That wide, easy smile, full of gentleness. Those brown eyes under that tousled hair. "Of course, Hinamori. You are a fine soldier." He reaches down and places his hands on her shoulders. "I am honored to have your loyalty as my fukutaichou."

_With hardly a sound, the moth lands, settles on the thin strands._

_No matter how your breath catches to look at it, one must never forget the true purpose of a spiderweb…_

It is no more than an accident – a coincidence of action. As one leans down, the other looks up, blinding bliss smoothing her face. Lips aimed at a forehead bump gently on a mouth ready to voice praise.

_She cannot see that she cannot move, accepting this moment of rest in a deadly trap - her eyes are blind._

_She will never see the fat spider that watches and now glides along his pathways until he reaches her._

The kiss is sweet, sunlight on petals – even he must bow to the taste. But perhaps not to the taste she knows. Domination is best flavored when masked by false compassion.

_Gently he embraces her, loops his silk around her and she can only succumb as he spins her round and round, wrapping her tighter even as he smiles…_

He takes this fortuitous moment and adds another link to her chain. Gently, he draws his fingers over her throat.

_This spider's poison is veiled in numbness so that the moth cannot tell the difference between giving and using even as she lies beneath the spider's fangs, trading blood for venom…_

_The spider feeds…_

…and Momo Hinamori flees from the garden, her lips burning, her mind racing and soaring, the memory clutched close to her pounding heart…

…_and feeds…_

…while Aizen Sousuke muses and spins his webs…

…_and feeds…_

--

_A/N: I have to say I have mixed feelings about Aizen as a villain. I thought it was very brave of Kubo to introduce us to this man who seemed all gentility and compassion and then have him be the ultimate villain. Brave in that he gave us a man with no background and no real length of time to get to know him before he "dies" and brave in hoping we'll automatically accept someone who seemed so nice to now be so diabolical. Of course, by the time he stabbed Hinamori, I was already hissing at him and calling him a bastard. I like him in the fact that nothing really seems to get to him - he reigns over it all with a smug look of satisfaction. Granted, that can make him kinda boring at times, but I appreciate that he at least appears to be cunning enough to really seem to know what he's doing - even to the point of setting up the chessboard and freaking out the Arrancar with his massive reiatsu... Still - it does seem kinda disappointing that all he does is sit on his throne and scheme...  
_

_I'm also morbidly fascinated by his relationship (or his lack of one) with Hinamori - it's horrible and amazing how devoted she is, even in the face of a childhood friend (Hitsugaya) who only has her wellbeing in mind... One wonders how she can be so naive - and yet I've seen its counterparts in real life..._

_Even Hitler had a girlfriend who was willing to die with and for him..._


	7. Seventh Kiss: Spoiling for a Fight

**Dedicated to BlueMiko - who reads and laughs and appreciates. - RedMiko -  
**

_Disclaimer: All characters belong to Tite Kubo. I just wish my brain worked like his…_

_I'm wondering what it would be like if Grimmjow somehow joined the Gotei 13 - I have a feeling he'd be put in Eleventh Division. And I think he'd give at least Ikkaku a run for his money... Grimmjow and Orihime_

--

**Spoiling for a Fight**

"Hey, Kurosaki!"

Ichigo recognizes the voice and closes his eyes against it, wincing as Orihime applies her healing shield. He's never really gotten used to the strange sensation of flesh and bone knitting together at abnormal speed.

"Kurosaki!"

"We're not fighting this time, Grimmjow," Ichigo bites out, opening his eyes and glaring at the former-Espada-now-Eleventh-Division-delinquent. "Go beat the hell out of Ikkaku."

"Not this time. I need a new challenge." The blue-haired man halts behind Orihime and stares down at Ichigo, his eyes half-hooded and his hands in his pockets. Around him, the rest of the Fourth Division gives a collective wince and checks their stock of bandages.

"No. Piss off."

Grimmjow growls and hunches his shoulders, his eyes alight with irritation. Then those same eyes take in Orihime and they grow crafty. "You done healing the bastard, chick?"

She smiles. "Almost. Just a couple more seconds." She's as good as her word because in a minute, the shield fades and the spirits fly back into her hairpins. She stands, smoothing down her robes. "I'm finished, Kurosa--mmph!"

Grimmjow pulls her in and smothers her sentence with his mouth on hers, wrapping a strong arm around her waist, and she's so surprised that she goes limp. Beside her, Ichigo freezes. And then—

"Grimmjow, you son of a--!"

--they're flash-stepping away, brawling as they go, leaving Orihime to listen to Grimmjow's laughter and Ichigo's frantic swearing.

Not far away, Unohana-taichou gives a small sigh and alerts a hell butterfly. As the sound of a faint explosion reaches their ears, Unohana patiently explains to the Budget Committee that they might want to consider a new subsection labeled "Cleanup and Maintenance after Kurosaki and Grimmjow."

--

_A/N: I think Grimmjow would do just about anything for a fight - given that he defied Aizen and had Orihime heal Ichigo just so he could maybe even the score... I like loose cannons - and Grimmjow's a big one. :D_


	8. Eighth Kiss: Cold and Heartless as Snow

**Dedicated to BlueMiko - who reads and laughs and appreciates. - RedMiko -  
**

_Disclaimer: All characters belong to Tite Kubo. I just wish my brain worked like his…_

_I know there isn't time for this - but this is set before the war with Aizen but after his betrayal. Hinamori and Hitsugaya_

--

**Cold and Heartless as Snow**

It's a sport as old as time, it seems. See two people - almost children, really – glide along the slick surface, awash in moonlight and surrounded by the austere glitter that is that is the cold heartless snow.

See the boy? He has the weight of manhood on his small shoulders – but don't ever question his age. What he lacks in stature and years, he makes up for in leadership and strength. Though he commands a division of top-notch Shinigami, he has little command over the kindness of his heart. Often, you'll find his white head bent over the division's paperwork while his fukutaichou slumbers on. Or you'll see him pass the Fourth Divison's headquarters and see a frown flit across his vivid eyes as he stops and gazes at it. Or, if you'd stopped by this particular reservoir early in the evening, you would have seen him diligently hovering over it on wings of ice, arguing with a freezing dragon.

Or you could trespass on this perfect moment. His hand engulfs hers and his face has a scowl as he pulls her along – his skating is filled with lazy ease – but maybe that scowl isn't so deep as usual. And maybe he doesn't normally hold hands with a girl – but tonight is different…

See the girl? She is frailty. Her spirit and her heart are too big for her body – her loyalty is deep and she loves not wisely but too well. Even now, she recovers from wounds to her body and soul – she should not be out here in the cold, but she snuck out to be with her old friend and to taste the winters of the real world. She is both gentle and hesitant but when faced with a challenge, happy to tackle it.

Like now. She focuses on her feet, laughing as she tries to keep them in line as she glides across the ice, her gait one of awkward eagerness. Her cheeks, pale with sickness and worry, have a flush of excitement; her voice, a pitch of joy. Her hair has escaped its bun, whipping in her wind as the boy skims behind her and gives her a steady push, sending her faster than ever.

She shrieks; she cannot hold her distance and so she crashes into a nearby snowbank, sending up a shower of snow powder. Laughing, the boy skates up and pulls her out by the back of her jacket. So intent is he on dusting her off and checking her for bruises that he doesn't notice her sly smile or the hand flying to his collar until he yelps at the sudden rush of cold down the back of his neck and the quickly melting snow that dribbles under his shirt.

Away he flashes, shunpo on skates, and she follows as best she can, readying her next round of ammunition. Though he is fast, she is deadly in her aim. They flit along the moon-bleached ice, two swallows skimming the surface of the lake. Crisscrossing each others paths, they attract and repel until the inevitable occurs and one crashes into the other and they topple into the snow.

By this time, snow falls from the sky – fat flakes like cold kisses – and she gasps in wonder. There is snow in the Seireitei – but nothing quite like this. Not that she's ever experienced outside in the wild. She reaches toward the sky, where the snow masquerades as stars and asks, didn't you create all this?

Not the snow, he replies. It's winter here already. I just helped it freeze.

Thank you, she breathes and puts her hand back in his. Thank you for such a wonderful evening…

He shrugs. You're welcome, I guess. Glad you're doing better. The silence spreads, the quiet hiss of snow falling, the stillness of stars. Indecision flickers across his face and he looks down at their joined hands. Maybe she's completely better? Maybe there is no Aizen in her heart anymore? Maybe…maybe they can go skating again someday. Or maybe they can go visit Granny and eat watermelon once more. She could spit seeds at him and he could spit them back and they'd swing their feet on the porch and draw in the dust with their toes and not care about the world or the upcoming war…

Would you ever kiss me, Shiro-chan? The stars shiver with her laughter and her hand tightens on his.

Baka, he grumbles. Why should I? You're just Momo.

Her breath hitches and he regrets his tone of voice and maybe even his words. She pulls her hand back and folds them over her stomach. Then--

I wish Aizen-sama could see this…

It's a story as old as time, it seems. See two people - almost children, really – lie beside a frozen lake, awash in moonlight and surrounded by the austere glitter that is the cold heartless snow.

--

_A/N: Interpret as you will. Personally, I hate the damage Aizen has done on Hinamori and her relationship with Hitsugaya. I think there was ample room for them to become something more, but I wonder if Hinamori will ever come to terms that Aizen is just the biggest bastard around..._


	9. Ninth Kiss: Sticky Situation

**Dedicated to BlueMiko - who reads and laughs and appreciates. - RedMiko -  
**

_Disclaimer: All characters belong to Tite Kubo. I just wish my brain worked like his…_

_Warning: Sticky fluffiness. Inspired by the anime Bount Arc (which I hated - except for parts). Hanatarou and...?_

Text like this - present day

_Text like this - flashback_

* * *

**Ninth Kiss: Sticky Situation**

"I've never wanted to kiss my taichou…"

Shunsui's half-closed eyes oozed cunning.

A cup slammed on the table.

"Tha'sh no' fair!" Nanao shrieked, her face flushed and her eyes blazing. Hanatarou dove for cover, protecting his own sake from her flailing hands even as he took a furtive sip. "Tha'sh no' fair – you don' hava tai-tai—" she hiccupped.

"I did once. General Yamamoto." Sunsui's voice was smooth and his smile smoother. "I think that counts, don't you, Rangiku-chan?"

But the blond fukutaichou had already taken a huge gulp from her brimming cup. "Long live Gin!" she cried and collapsed into giggles.

Hanatarou couldn't quite remember how he'd been dragged into this game. He knew it definitely involved Renji and Ikkaku in some form or another – and Matsumoto might have been involved at some point but whether that was before or after sake had been mentioned, he couldn't recall. Probably after. Yes. There had been a wild gleam in her eyes and she'd hugged him to her ample chest and cheered.

"Matsumoto…." Shuuhei never hiccupped. Instead, his voice slowed to the longest drawl possible. "Kyouraku-taichou meant your own captain."

Wide blue eyes regarded him in surprise. "Really? Oh well – guess I have to take another drink!" Another third of her cup drained away. Hanatarou felt his head spin just watching her.

--

_The line is back to the door – but he can't think about that now. If he's learned anything about being a healer, it's to concentrate on the patient you have now before moving on to the next one. He finds this lesson works well in the human world – especially as he works the till for the convenience store. Behind him, Ganju laughs and jokes and helps make the waiting people happier while Hanatarou does his best to fill orders._

_Two bentos, two juices, two apples, and a bag of sweets. Three bandage boxes and a package of deodorant. One stick of candy in exchange for a sticky five cent piece (he has to scrub his hands after that). One fresh-from-the-grill hot dog with onions that make his eyes water. He is profuse in his apologies, thick with civility, and efficient in his ability to botch a job._

_Two bags of sweets, a bento, and six freeze-dried mushrooms and the customer shouts at him, despite Ganju's comedy routine. Hanatarou rushes to fix it and suddenly there are three more people on the end of the line. The bandage boxes somehow morph into cigarette packets and this customer asks if he's trying to suggest he commit suicide by lung cancer? Hanatarou bows his apologies and hands over the bandage boxes and the deodorant, forgetting to ring in the sale._

--

How Renji and Ikkaku had convinced the rest of the party was beyond him. Shunsui had agreed easily. Anything involving sake was right up his alley. Nanao didn't drink at first, but after twenty minutes of her captain's antics, she'd poured a cup and downed it all before – it was all too easy after that to persuade her that a game of "I Never" wouldn't get her very drunk at all…

"I have never tat-tat-tattooed my fashe," Matsumoto managed, leering at Shuuhei.

He matched her leer as he slurped. "Any time, just ask…"

Renji took his sip and then grinned a manic grin. "I've never drank three whole bottles of sake and then drawn mustaches on an innocent sleeping taichou."

Rukia gave a gasp that turned halfway into a hiccup and she fell on her back, coughing. Her hand came up followed by her reddened face and she fumbled with her cup for a moment before taking a reluctant sip.

Byakuya gave her a very long, very cold stare. "That explains a lot."

And then he too took a drink.

The ensuing surprised chokes were cut off as the stare traveled around the group, quelling all questions.

"Damn…" Ikkaku muttered, glaring at his sake. "Now I wanna know. I've never howled like a dog outside my taichou's window on a dare." He ducked as an empty sake jug sailed over his head.

--

_The manager comes in for his shift and sees the mob, panicking. He shouts in Hanatarou's ear, pushes Ganju onto a register, and begins taking orders for the deli. Soon the crowd decreases and grows a little happier. Hanatarou tries to find a balance between being fast and being accurate. Somehow the two never seem to coincide and he descends into misery. Why did he decide to work in the human world in the first place?_

--

"Bastard!" Renji shouted. The jug smashed on the wall, showering a passed-out Nemu with fragments. She mumbled something that made even Matsumoto blush before rolling over and snoring even louder. Renji's eyebrows seemed to meld together in a permanent frown as he took a drink. "I'll get you for this, Ikkaku…"

"Ish not your tuuuuurn!" Matsumoto chirped, draping an arm and half her chest over his shoulder. "Abarai-kun hash to wait. Go kish Ru-Ru-Rukia-chan!"

"Baka!" Renji growled, giving the fukutaichou an unceremonious shove. She, however, shoved back and pushed him in the direction of Rukia. Overbalancing and feeling his sake, Renji plowed into Rukia and there ensued a tangle of limbs and muttered cursing.

"Who's turn is it, anyway?" Shunsui asked, topping up the cups nearest him with fresh drink. Renji and Rukia righted themselves, blushing furiously. "Is it Hanatarou-kun?" Beside him, Nanao teetered for a moment and gently folded against him, her eyes closed and her mouth agape.

Hanatarou straightened and rubbed his eyes – the sake was putting him to sleep and so far he hadn't had to drink in a while. "I don't think so, Kyoutaru-taichou. I'm after Kuchiki-taichou."

"Mayuri, then." Shunsui gestured with the sake bottle before setting it down next to the twelve other empty ones. He pulled off his pink kimono and draped it over his fukutaichou, patting her head with a smile.

--

_The mad rush having subsided, the manager, hoarse from shouting, whispers for Hanatarou to go back and restock the shelves. Ganju goes out to breathe some fresh air._

_Hanatarou picks a few boxes at random and piles them on top and then gingerly makes his way back into the main part of the shop. It's quiet – the hum from the refrigerators and the electric lights overpowering in the new silence. Hanatarou peeks around the edge of his boxes, regardless – it certainly wouldn't do to destroy the manager's vocal cords anymore._

--

Mayuri's cup smoked slightly. No one had the courage to look in the cup but every once in a while a bubble burst and send little flecks of green matter into the air accompanied by a faint whiff of something caustic. He had been taking leisurely sips for every question – even for some of the wilder sex-involved ones Renji and Ikkaku had concocted. Now, there was about two feet of space around him and no one seemed able to glance in his direction without getting a peculiar look across their face and the sudden urge to squirt bleach in their brains.

"How interesting." Mayuri smiled and his neighbors, feeling a little too sober for comfort, moved back a few more inches. "I had not heard of this game before. How amusing to find out so many secrets." He drew a long white finger around the rim of his cup and the smile grew wider until they could all see the furthest teeth. "Then here is mine for consideration. I have never kissed a female."

--

_The first thing he sees is a young mother, baby girl in one arm, basket clutched in the hand and quickly pulling bottles off the shelf with the other. The tiny child eyes Hanatarou, half a popsicle hanging out of her mouth and dripping down her chin. The mother ignores him, her pretty face creased in a sad frown._

--

A unanimous spluttering of drinks.

"Not even when you and—" Renji began.

"No."

"What about mouth-to-mouth—" Ikkaku tried.

"Of course not."

"And the whole thing with the six test tubes and the—" Shuuhei was grasping.

"That didn't involve a female. And it was purely scientific."

--

_Hanatarou moves to go down a different aisle, one that won't disrupt the woman's frantic shopping – and sees the baby girl lurch out towards a bottle further down the shelf._

"_Look out!" he shouts, diving toward the falling girl. Boxes scatter. Shrieks. Loud clatters and smashes._

--

There was a general deflation. Then, sips from most of the men in the room. Rukia blushed, snuck a glance at Renji who took a hasty swallow and tried not to look in Byakuya's direction.

Matsumoto pouted. "But I want to drink." Then her eyes gleamed. "Rukia-chaaan."

Renji bristled. "Back off, woman, her lips are mine."

A slight cough made him flinch. "Indeed?" Byakuya intoned, shifting slightly. "I was not aware of this development."

"Renji!" Rukia took a swipe at the fukutaichou who looked immensely pleased with himself despite the eyes of his taichou boring into the back of his neck.

--

_He's almost afraid to open his eyes. There's something cold seeping into his shirt and his head throbs. He's almost sure his ankle's twisted. But his arms are full of a warm, wriggling weight and there doesn't seem to be too much screaming going on…_

"_Oh thank you, thank you, thank you!"_

_He cracks an eye open and looks up into a pair of melt-your-heart brown eyes. Dimples peek forth on the ends of a toothy grin. Tiny hands reach up to tug on his chin._

"_Oh are you alright? Thank you for saving Miyu-chan – but are you alright?"_

_Past the soft curls he sees another pair of shimmering brown eyes. Silvery tears tracing the curve of a soft cheek. Two graceful hands reaching down to gently pull him and the little girl up._

--

Hanatarou listened to the ensuing argument with only half an ear as he watched Matsumoto glance around and stop at the passed-out Nanao. With a determined set to her jaw, the fukutaichou crawled around the table and planted her lips on the sleeping woman. "There." Matsumoto reached back and plucked up her sake, draining the last of it. "Now it'sh only Hanatarou who hashn't kished a girl!" She rounded on the boy and threw open her arms. "Wanna kish?"

--

"_You're my hero."_

"_Hewo!"_

_A sticky pair of lips suction to his cheek and little arms catch his neck in a stranglehold. Messy – but not entirely unpleasant._

_And then, a second pair of lips, warm and soft, with an open current straight to his heart. They plant at the corner of his mouth and he finds himself unable to breathe. And then his arms are empty and the door chimes open and then shuts and still he stands there, dazed, in a puddle of ice cream toppings and broken glass._

_Because sometimes, life's moments are best framed by sweetness._

--

He gave a deep bow. "Gomen nasai, Matsumoto-fukutaichou. I have been kissed." He raised his cup and took a deep sip, smiling at her over the rim. "But I have never booby-trapped my taichou's office."

"How the hell do you know about that?!"

* * *

_A/N: Wow - she finally updates! Thanks to my reviewers so far - ObsidianJade, DelMarch, and ExplosiveNoteNinja - you inspire me. :D_


	10. Tenth Kiss: Her Face to the Sun

**Dedicated to BlueMiko - who reads and laughs and appreciates. - RedMiko -  
**

_Disclaimer: All characters belong to Tite Kubo. I just wish my brain worked like his…_

_Sequel of sorts (more like bookend) to Fractured Melody - the story told from Chad's point of view. Orihime and Chad_

_Italicized text: Flashback.  
_

_

* * *

_**Her Face to the Sun**_  
_

Once she had brightened a room with her laughter. Once she had quieted a room with her crazy imagination. Once she had sang a song when she thought no one was listening, but they heard her because, after all , she was only in the next room preparing tea for them and who on earth forgets where they are anyway?

He never really used to notice her. One day she wasn't there and the next she was. One day he's normal, the next he can see things most people can't. And then his world shatters and reshapes and his circle of friends grows from one to four and then more as they rescue each other and discover the undiscovered country.

Like a planet to a sun, he finds his orbit shifting around her. Compared to the others, she is the weakest and he, with the others, comes to her rescue more often than not. Even as she grows in her abilities, he finds himself running to her side to bring offense to her defense. And when she goes to Hueco Mundo to save them all, he is there by Ichigo's side to bring her back.

It isn't until they trek across that vast white desert that Chad realizes that maybe it isn't just for Ichigo that he wants to bring back Orihime.

And it isn't until they find her corpse laid out on a slab of stone, dressed in an Arrancar robe, thin and pale and achingly beautiful that he realizes the extent of his selfishness - that maybe he wants to rescue her for himself, but it's too late now - and so he despairs with the rest of them until somehow Ichigo's raging tears bring forth the Shun Shun Rikka and they bring her back to life.

Of course, he should have known - they all should have known - that the job would only have been half-completed.

Back in the real world, she awakes to find she doesn't know them. After several days at the hospital, the doctors come to them and with soft, apologetic voices say that it might be best if she were institutionalized, they might help her get her memory back and prevent her from hurting herself and besides, her screaming nightmares are keeping the other patients up at night.

They visit often, Ichigo most of all, and Chad watches his heart break, watches all their hearts crumble under the relentlessness of Orihime's self-protective amnesia. It's the greatest blow Aizen could have dealt - the faux-death of a comrade. It becomes a rallying cry for all of them as they gather their forces for a final march on Hueco Mundo - while at the same time becoming a horrible weight on their shoulders. Even if they win, it's no guarantee Orihime will ever be the same. Even Urahara has visited and offered no smiles, no coy words, and Ichigo's face turns bleak at his pronouncement. She doesn't want to remember - whatever the Espada and Aizen did to her shut her down completely.

The final battle against Aizen brings horror. While Chad struggles momentarily against a binding kido, Aizen strikes Ichigo down - a sneaking, furtive move that slides a blade between his ribs and sends a burst of lethal reiatsu straight to the heart. The war is won that day, but Chad can do nothing but watch as the smile fades and the orange hair fades and the spirit that was Kurosaki Ichigo fades and even the edge of his memories fades until he can barely remember and can only bellow his frustration and pound great furrows into the earth with his fists.

"Look after her, okay?"

Ichigo's last words haunt him as they bury the boy. Ishida leaves the country for America, unable to face the loss. Rukia and Renji return to Soul Society to help rebuild the Gotei 13. Urahara informs Chad that, yes, Ichigo will eventually show up in the Seireitei - but the Rukongai is vast and it may take a while. Oh - and Soul Society is now off-limits to ryoka. There can be no more mistakes like last time.

Chad can't face Orihime's blank mind or frightened face for days. To have sacrificed her memories or Ichigo's life - it's too much to ask - and then to give nothing back but take even more from him…. He spends the days going to school, watching his classmates try to fathom Ichigo's disappearance, ignoring the pestering queries while he tries to think of a reason as to why he is the only one who remains. Days turn into weeks and weeks into months and he all but forgets about the girl in the institution.

It comes as a dream - an ecstatic, twisted nightmare where he is reunited with Ichigo in the Rukongai. There is no blood. There is no loss. Nothing to suggest death or war or cruelty. Instead, Ichigo asks about Orihime. And Chad can't answer his questions.

He awakes in a cold sweat.

They make him do paperwork. He says he is only a visitor but they insist. He is fingerprinted and background checked and made to wait until even his great patience is stretched to the breaking point. But the memory of his dream keeps him from running and they finally lead him down a stretch of hallway that reminds him of the halls of Hueco Mundo.

She is so tiny. Her legs so thin. Her cheeks sunken. Her eyes dull. He didn't think his heart could be broken again - but it crumples when he sees her and he can only sit at the little table and look at her - he can't look away - while she forms broken sentences and asks broken questions. He walks away, resolving never to come back.

But the next day he watches her fingers, plaiting the seam of her gown, curled with her legs under on the bed. She speaks in nonsense, a nonsense that is not Orihime-nonsense, but enough of a resemblance to convince him that she is still there underneath. He watches her feet as they rub against each other, notes the hairpins still in her hair and he wonders if she remembers their significance.

She doesn't want to remember. Doesn't want to, doesn't need to, doesn't have to. He watches her cringe as he opens his mouth to answer her questions, relax when the answers have nothing to do with making her delve into the darkness of her mind. And when something he says tightens the skin of her forehead, she gets up quickly, jerkily, and moves around the room, pacing like a worried dog. So he thinks long before he speaks – but she doesn't seem to mind – and since his days are reigned by his silence and her chatter, he brings his abuelo's worn guitar and tries to remember how to play.

His notes are halting and hesitant, pulled from his memories of long ago in Mexico, yet still she moves, her pacing flowing smoothly into swaying motion, her hair swinging free, her head bobbing until she looks like a sunflower – a mirasol – like the ones his abuelo used to plant outside their tiny apartment. He watches her and his fingers move on their own and he finds the notes one after another.

But her face changes. It grows blank, cheerful yet empty. The music doesn't make her think, doesn't make her yearn. It allows her to escape – and he knows, with every fiber of his soul, that she must not escape. So one day when she stumbles and he catches her, he looks into her eyes and sees the last remnants of her old self so far away that he wonders if he's imagining things, that maybe last night some other soul came and began inhabiting the familiar body. And so he sits on her bed, his guitar resting beside him, and he stares at the floor and remembers.

The story spills forth, detail building on detail, all in Spanish. His second language is rusty, long out of practice like his music. He fumbles over words, makes ones up, blushes to think of his abuelo chastising him for murdering such a beautiful language. He can't look at her, knowing that he's asking her to remember and to understand. She is quiet and, concerned, he finally does meet her gaze – and the curiosity, the wide-eyed wonder at his words, the incomprehension is so familiar and so Orihime that he feels his throat tighten and the words trickle away and he can only pick up the guitar and play.

Yet he finds, as the days pass by, that his Spanish is the only thing that brings her back to herself. His music takes her away while his voice anchors her and draws her nearer the wall. She dances and listens and he watches and speaks and plays, weaving the fabric of her days so that she can follow the threads home. She asks questions now, wants to know what he says. She even mimics the words, mangling the sounds so that he has to swallow the laughter and his fingers tremble on the strings of the guitar with the effort. He watches her eyes grow more familiar each day and her face soften and her smile widen and he feels the ache in his heart return – and he realizes he doesn't have to surrender her to anyone this time.

That is the day he buys her a flower, his heart light with love of her. That is the day he loses himself in her dance so much that he can't play anymore and can only watch her whirl in joy, her thin arms and legs peeking from her hospital gown. That is the day she drops beside him, her face intent and her fingers curling around his, trying to place them back on the strings, to bring the music back. And that is the day he finds himself drawing her close and laying his lips on hers, his heart aching with sorrow and joy, sorrow at her memories hidden so deeply, joy as she kisses him back.

"ICHIGO!"

His heart so full can do nothing but shatter and he can only stare at her as she writhes, her hands over her face, her screams echoing, reverberating, bouncing through his head. Yet he knows - he knows she is not to blame – that somehow, sweetly, his kiss was the thaw to the icy wall in her mind and the flood in her mind is too much. Her hands draw away and he sees her terrified eyes and feels the pull of what's left of his heart towards her. The doctors come and begin to restrain her, another stands before Chad and says he must leave and never come back but that can't be true – she needs him, he can't leave her…

"Help me!" she pleads with him and he reaches a hand to her.

--

_Abuelo – the mirasols haven't grown._

_Not yet, chico. But soon._

_But the neighbor's mirasols have – why won't ours?_

_You must let flowers grow on their own, chico. They must decide to come up from the cold ground and lift their faces to the sun._

_Can I dig them up and hold them to the sun?_

_If you do that, they'll never grow. They have their own timing. You have to leave them alone._

_--  
_

The words leave his mouth before he realizes they even formed in his brain. "No puedo. Pero tú puedes. Tienes que desear recordar para ser libre." With that, he slings his guitar on his back and, his jaw set, he walks out the door. Behind him, she sobs.

I can't. But you can. You have to want to remember in order to be free_._

Once again, he avoids the institute, hiding behind gigs with his band, ignoring his abuelo's guitar now locked in the closet. Her sparkling eyes swim before his vision sometimes when he sees the sunflowers that begin to bloom – but then he remembers her wounded cry of "Ichigo!" and his soul freezes and curls like a leaf before a frost. Doubt cripples him. Why had he left her? Jealousy? Or tough love? Or was it even love? Some days he wonders whether he seeks escape for himself too. It has been months since he last visited Ichigo's grave.

Days float past, one indistinguishable from the next.

The dream returns.

Once more, Ichigo visits him, laughing, alive, sparring playfully with him as they walk along the river. And once more, his face falls sad when he asks about Orihime and Chad can't tell him anything.

He awakes and sees the guitar, sitting by his window in the moonlight. He doesn't remember unlocking the closet door – but he takes it as a sign. Dressing, he picks up the guitar and walks with purpose towards the institute.

He plays softly in the garden outside her window. She's never let out during the day, that much he knows, but sometimes they leave the window open and sometimes he can hear her sobbing and sometimes he can hear her speaking quietly, words recognizable but so atrociously accented that he can barely contain his laughter and his shoulders shake as he plays for her.

She speaks a little to him but her questions are unlike what she used to ask. She demands answers now and one day he overhears her talking in hushed but delighted tones, with tiny crystal voices answering back, one loud and irritated voice in particular. It's then that he knows her time behind the wall is finite. And it worries him. She has her memories back – she remembers her love for the bright-haired boy, the one who died saying her name as Chad watched him fade. He listens as she speaks her halting Spanish to him, asking to understand, and he hesitates.

Around him, the sky is dark, the moon high and cold above him. Spring has come but the nights are cool and he shivers in his bright Hawaiian shirt. The roses that bloom and fill the air with their scent still dance in the winds, dropping stray petals, the younger smaller leaves curling their edges. Yet far in the hills, he sees light, spreading its fingers among the stars and pushing its warmth against the low clouds and he knows that the chill won't last forever.

"Come."

Then she is there, her warm arms sliding around him, her body pressed against his back. The clouds burn gold, the edge of the hills pink, and his heart warms as the first beams touch his cheek. He takes her hand in his, hoists her on his back and together they walk toward the dawn.

--

If you travel south and east from Japan, across the ocean, you will come to a land where the language is soft and mellow, the people friendly, taking life at their ease. The trees sway in the never-ending sun, the nights warm as the days. The cuisine might strike you a little odd – chilies in the sweets, chocolate in the meat sauces – but somehow it blends and warms and welcomes and leaves you wondering how such variations can actually work.

On the side of a hill, just outside a little village, there is a small house. Like the cuisine, it blends in and stands out – fading into the trees but so distinctly Japanese that one can't help but look at it and admire the mixture of architectures. Sunflowers line the front of the house while a small path twists and meanders from the back, leading up to a row of white stones. On each is a name - just a name. No message, no birth date, no death date.

In front of one, incense burns. A tall man stands before it, his hands in his pockets, gazing down and smiling faintly. "Ichigo…" The deep voice whispers the name and the winds sigh for a moment, whirling the fragrance high. "She is well and happy now." To the right of this stone, the grass ripples near the others. Ishida. Asano Keigo. Tatsuki. Kurosaki Karin.

The wind flares and then silences and he kneels, reaching out to brush Ichigo's marker. "She will be fine when you come. Just…" He pauses, feeling strangely guilty and not-guilty. His name, cheerful and giggling, comes floating over the distance and he turns his head to see her standing in the back door, waving a dripping spoon at him, dancing like the sunflowers. Already, some of the sauce from her spoon has smeared on her cheek – but she doesn't seem to notice. His smile widens and he raises his hand to her and turns back to clap his hands over the marker.

"Just…don't come soon."

* * *

_A/N: I've wanted to write this half of the story - but it wouldn't let me for some reason - until I was in the middle of NaNoWriMo, trying to write 50K words on something completely different - and this story just screamed at me, absolutely screamed to be written. Argh! So I did. Sort of. I started it, abandoned it, finished it, edited it and posted it. I like the two different takes on the same story, how each has their own secret doubts and worries and views. It was a bit of a challenge and yet not a challenge. I also had fun imagining Orihime living in Mexico or South America, where they mix sweet and spicy and where she can learn to mix "odd" flavors together (chocolate and pepper) and still have yummy meals._


	11. Eleventh Kiss: Distraction

**Dedicated to BlueMiko - who reads and laughs and appreciates. - RedMiko -  
**

_Disclaimer: All characters belong to Tite Kubo. I just wish my brain worked like his…_

_I'll let you figure out the pairing.  
_

_

* * *

_

**Distraction**_  
_

She knows something good has happened at work because she can hear it in his voice when he calls at the end of lunch to thank her for his daily bento.

He knows she knows because she calls his assistant to find out when he'll be home for dinner – and his assistant's open face can't hide secrets.

She will flip through the cookbooks her friends insist on giving her, clicking her tongue behind her teeth as she frets over the recipes. They never have the flavors she's looking for and she always ends up modifying them to suit her tastes.

He will sit through the afternoon's design meeting, his eyes tracking each new line of fashion while his mind flips through the previous meals she's made. Some are new and flavorful interpretations of old favorites – others are unmitigated disasters that he will never remind her of.

On her way to the store, she pauses for a moment to look through her closet – filled with clothes loving designed by him. Each piece unique and precious with her tastes and his love and her colors and his flourishes.

On his way to the elevator, he pauses to look at the sketches on his wall – her deft lines smooth and vague and fantastical. Each picture holds an outfit that envelopes and compliments and appeals – and he tries once more to think of how to capture it in fabric.

Cayenne pepper, she decides as she skims down the grocery aisle. And olives. And maybe a hint of tofu. One can never have too much tofu. At least she isn't out of wasabi…

Roses, he decides as he strides to the florist two blocks over. Rio samba roses the color of sunset – like her hair. And earrings. The pair she's been gushing over for months now. At least he already has a bottle of fine wine stashed...

She arrives at home, wondering where she stored the candles and if she's brought back the tablecloth yet and exactly how long does it say to cook the dinner?

He arrives at home, wondering at what stage of dinner she's at and if she's modified the recipe and is she passed the point where he can salvage it when she's not looking?

She sees him walk through the door, his step light but filled with graceful tension. She remembers the figure of a boy, straight and tall, a glowing bow in his hand.

He sees her standing by the window, her hand on the shade, her eyes soft. He remembers the figure of a girl, eyes determined behind a golden shield.

She chatters and he smiles and she finally realizes the objects in his arms and he watches the joy spread across her face and she claps her hands and he hands her the box and she cries when she sees the glimmering jewels and he thinks they don't compare at all to the shine of her eyes.

And while she goes to the bedroom to put on the earrings and change into something that matches their decadence, he goes to the kitchen to find a vase for the flowers and to hide each and every ingredient not on the recipe list. Even the wasabi.

She notices the missing ingredients and frets – the recipe is ruined.

He takes her in his arms and soothes – the evening is perfect.

She argues – she had it all planned out, it was going to be perfect, it was a new recipe that sounded so yummy, she spent an hour looking for candles, she found the tablecloth but it had a hole, the —

He kisses her.

Dinner sits forgotten.

* * *

_A/N: I know, I know - another Orihime one. I'm certainly not a Rukia hater - but I do prefer Orihime. I'll start thinking of some Rukia ones. I'm even contemplating going against my creed and trying to craft a believable IchiRukia kiss. Somehow._

_Until next time - thank you for your reviews and for reading! :)_


End file.
